


On The Lesser-Known Habits of Dwarves

by fishnet



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Desperation Play, Frottage, M/M, Omorashi, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22175704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishnet/pseuds/fishnet
Summary: It's a dwarvish vice. Apparently.(Mind the tags.)
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Kudos: 90





	On The Lesser-Known Habits of Dwarves

Bilbo has found it impossible not to find out more than he ever wanted to know about what the dwarves of Thorin’s company like to do in bed, or at least what they would like to do if they had the opportunity rather than sleeping under the sky with a dozen people in earshot. Most of it comes down to enthusiastic variations on a couple of basic activities, not unfamiliar to anyone who had ever observed livestock in spring. Even his reaction to all the jokes about sucking things is mainly that he’d want someone to have a bath first.

Bofur does manage to shock him, though.

“That’s umm, umm,” Bilbo manages, his face turning red. “Umm. Er. We don’t … umm.”

“Really? It’s not that uncommon a thing to like,” Bofur says. “A bit of a joke, maybe, but there are some I know have a taste for it who no one laughs about.” His eyes light on Thorin, and Bilbo knows he is flushing a deeper scarlet, increasingly tempted to put on the ring and disappear. “There’s nothing wrong with it, it’s just a bit kinky, like …” He makes helpless gestures, clearly unable to think of a hobbit equivalent.

Bilbo isn’t about to help. “It hardly sounds sanitary,” he says firmly.

“Best to have a change of clothes handy,” Bofur says cheerfully, and claps him on the shoulder. “Just something to think about.”

He tells himself that of course he won’t, and so of course he does. It’s hard not to look the next time Thorin goes aside on the road, and even harder not to wonder if Thorin is watching him. Once he turns as he’s buttoning himself up and sees Thorin’s eyes on him, but Thorin turns aside at once, frowning, and so hopefully he doesn’t see Bilbo’s face heating.

It’s the week after the battle before the question comes up. They’ve been sharing a bed in an innocent way that isn’t, Bilbo has noticed, entirely innocent in anyone’s eyes, including hopefully Thorin’s. He’s getting the impression that dwarf courtships are long, which is fine, except that he isn’t staying forever.

He’s beginning to wonder if Thorin ever intends to do anything in his bed but sleep, and whether there’s a way to speed things along that won’t reduce him to stammering embarrassment, when there’s a drinking party that involves enough ale to go to even a hobbit’s head. Bilbo is making his way to the drafty garderobe when Thorin grasps him by the arm and steers him away toward Thorin’s bedchamber.

He’s willing to be steered, and to be grappled with by a hot-breathed dwarf once they reach the bedchamber, but there is another pressing issue that requires a pause in the proceedings. “Er,” he says. “Just give me a moment with the, I’ll just be a moment …”

Thorin grasps him firmly by the crotch, both pleasant and in his current condition a bit alarming. “I want you to …” he says, and finishes with a mouthful of dwarvish that Bilbo has to remind Thorin by his expression he can’t understand. “To hold your water for me.”

“There was all that ale,” Bilbo says. “And, the natural consequences, if you see what I … my point being that, well … I will have to, you know, before very long.”

Thorin smiles like a wolf. “That’s the point,” he says. “To hold it until you can’t anymore.”

He’s not sure whether he likes that. “Because you want to see me embarrass myself?”

“Because I want to see you desperate,” Thorin growls, and he can’t deny the appeal of that word, and in seeing Thorin’s eyes light with a fire he’s been worrying would remain tame and banked forever.

“The thing is, I don’t know if I can bring myself to … are you sure I couldn’t just … no, I’ll do it,” he says hurriedly, as the pressure of Thorin’s hand eases and threatens to withdraw. “What do I do?”

“Wait,” Thorin said, and lies down on the bed. Bilbo joins him cautiously, and Thorin pulls him over him to straddle Thorin’s thigh. Spreading his knees sends a warning jolt through his crotch, and he catches his breath. “Ahh,” Thorin said, his face changing to a focused intensity that's hard to dislike. “Yes. -------” The same growl of dwarvish. “For me.”

They stay like that for what feels like an hour, drunkenness making the experience dreamlike, the world narrowing to the heat of Thorin’s body under him and the increasing urgency of his need to piss. The urge is coming in cramping waves, and he finds himself squirming involuntarily, trying to close his legs. He's beginning to feel as though even crossing them and clutching himself might not work. He can't remember ever being so desperate for the pot.

“Thorin …”

“Keep holding it,” Thorin says, less a growl now than a breathless groan. His hips are jerking in little thrusts up against Bilbo’s thigh, his prick jutting hard into Bilbo’s leg with each thrust. “As long as you can. Until you’re desperate.”

“I am, I really am, I’ve never been so desperate,” he says, unable to stop babbling. “I’m trying, I’m trying as hard as I can, but …” He shifts, but every movement brings on the urge to piss with greater ferocity. Another cramping wave is starting, and he feels a trickle of wetness crawling down his thigh. “I simply can’t … any more,” he says in a strangled voice, and closes his eyes, knowing his face must be scarlet.

Thorin thrusts his hand between Bilbo’s thighs again, and for one endless moment, the hard pressure makes the urgency ease, so that he draws an incautious breath. Then Thorin slides his hand up until the heel of his hand is resting just in the wrong place, and presses.

It feels like a bursting dam, like fireworks going off, and for a moment all he's aware of was how good it felt to piss. Then he returns to mortified, vivid awareness of the fact that he's soaking Thorin’s trousers, his legs, his bed.

“Thorin …”

Thorin grabs his hips and wrestles Bilbo down against him, draggs his groin hard against Bilbo’s a single time, and groans as if he's dying. It takes Bilbo a moment to realize that Thorin has already spent himself, so violently that he's left pale and shaking as Bilbo finally manages to stem his stream.

“Finish,” Thorin whispers, and Bilbo makes an effort, although it's harder without the urgency to overcome self-consciousness. He manages a few more spurts that, if they don’t empty him entirely, at least make him comfortable for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

“And now finish,” Thorin says, and reaches for him, not bothering to unbutton his wet trousers but merely working him through his clothes. “And then we can both have baths.”

“That’s a relief,” Bilbo says. “I don’t think I can wait very long for that, either …”

“As long as you can,” Thorin says, and grips him tighter.


End file.
